The Mamas and The Papas
by Negaduck
Summary: The High Holy Order of Poobahs is back!  Yet all is not fun and games for the Fraggle Five's family.
1. People Like Us

**The Mamas and The Papas**  
><strong>Part 1: People Like Us<strong>  
>By Kim McFarland<p>

* * *

><p>It was not a dark and stormy night in Fraggle Rock. Its inhabitants were playing in the Great Hall, in the passageways, in the pond, and anywhere else they happened to be. It was the beginning of summer, a time of high spirits for Fraggles. They swam, sang, played games, explored, and burned off excess energy any other way they could think of.<p>

Recently cryptic notes had begun appearing in the Great Hall and the surrounding caves, all addressed to "Fritz." For several days the scraps of paper, chalk graffiti, and small posters drawn and painted by various hands had been multiplying. Yesterday someone—nobody would admit to knowing who—had posted a message on the Fraggle Horn telling Fritz to come to the Firefly Cavern on the night of the new moon.

Everyone knew what that meant: The Poobahs, the secret society of which everyone was a member, would meet tonight. On the surface their meetings were grave, serious, and strict, but in reality they were one of the silliest activities Fraggles could take part in. The society came and went, meeting for a few weeks or months when interest arose, and after it ran its course it disappeared for several more years, until the next revival.

In the room that Gobo and Wembley shared, those two plus Red, Mokey, Boober, and Janken had gathered. Mokey and Red were working on Red's Poobah costume. Janken watched with interest. The last time the Poobahs had met he had been too young to understand what was going on.

Mokey said, "I could paint some flowers in the top of your nose cover. Nobody else has a floral motif."

"Sure, if you want," Red said with a shrug.

Mokey looked up. "Red, you don't seem very enthusiastic."

"It's just the stupid timing, that's all."

Gobo said, "I know. But we decided last year."

"I know that! And I know Mokey can't help it either. But the timing still stinks."

Janken, sitting beside Wembley in his sleeping nook, listened without worrying. His parents squabbled on a regular basis. It never lasted long, and grudges were never kept after matters were settled, so it didn't bother him.

Before winter his family had planned to take part in this year's Midsummer Ritual so that next year Mokey would have another baby. That would make Janken a big brother, they had explained. He liked that idea. Like all rituals, it had to be done at just the right time to work; you couldn't call the Fraggle Moon on the wrong day and have it appear, and ringing bells before the Festival of the Bells wouldn't keep the Rock moving and bring on the thaw. This ritual had to be done when Mokey was ready, and she was ready now. It was earlier in the year than usual for Fraggles, but she couldn't help that. The problem was that they couldn't do the ritual and meet with the Poobahs at the same time, so they had to give one up. There had been no question which. Technically, Janken knew, the ritual only really needed two Fraggles, not four, but it wasn't fair to leave people out. That was why they didn't know which of Gobo, Wembley, and Boober had sired Janken; it could have been any of them, as all three had joined in the ritual. Which was fine by Janken; he was happy to call them all his fathers.

Red told Janken, "Well, it'll be just you and me, kiddo." She smiled with genuine warmth.

"Yeah," he answered. Aunt Red was fun. She wouldn't be in the Midsummer Ritual because she wasn't going to start a baby, so she would bring him to the Poobah meeting. That would be fun. It would have been better with all of them there, though.

"They'll be doing stuff for at least a couple handfuls of days. We'll come too once the Ritual's over," Wembley said.

"I know," Red replied.

She wasn't willing to admit it, but the schedule conflict wasn't what was bothering Red. Mokey was the motherly one. This would be her second child. She had been through pregnancy, birth, diapers, midnight crying, baby sicknesses, all the horrors that went with having little Fraggles, and now that Janken had become an actual person Mokey was ready to start it all over again. She acted as if there was nothing to it! Red would have been a bundle of nerves if she had been facing that prospect. And yet... she wanted to. She knew that she would be able to handle it; anything that Mokey could do, Red could do too! But would she ever be _ready?_

Janken asked, "What do the Poobahs do?"

"Silly stuff," Red answered.

"I know. But what kind of silly stuff?"

Wembley said, "It's different every time. But we always act as if it's really serious. That's the fun of it, making fun of taking ourselves too seriously."

"That sounds goofy," Janken said skeptically.

"It is," Boober said.

"Yeah." Wembley grinned. "Hey, I can show you a game we played."

"Okay."

"Just a minute, lemme get some stuff." Wembley scampered down the ladder from his sleeping nook and asked Gobo, "You mind?"

"Go ahead," Gobo replied.

Wembley opened a small box in which Gobo kept a few things. He selected some smoothies—well-worn river pebbles—and a few small, shiny discs from Outer Space that were decorated with bas-relief pictures and writing. He glanced around, then added a pair of empty teacups and some unshelled rock nuts. He put these things down on the floor, then held out his arms to Janken and said "C'mere!"

Without hesitation Janken jumped. He landed in Wembley's arms, almost knocking him over. Janken was a little too big for him to catch, but Wembley never minded. Wembley sat on the floor, and pointed to the ground in front of himself. "Sit there, facing me."

Janken did. The others watched with interest as Wembley arranged the objects he had gathered between himself and Janken. He arranged them in mirror fashion; when he put a smoothie in front of himself, he put another smoothie opposite it in front of Janken. When he was done he told Janken, "This game is called 'mirror'. I do things, then you try to do just what I do. If you can copy me ten times, you win. If you miss something, I win. If I do something you can't do and you call foul, then you win too."

"Okay," Janken said.

Wembley picked up a smoothie. Janken did too. Wembley tossed his up and down in his hand a few times. Janken nearly fumbled, but Wembley let that pass. Next Wembley picked up several rock nuts, then shelled and ate one. Janken followed each move with an expression of intense concentration, even placing the pieces of nutshell to match those that Wembley had dropped. Wembley dropped the rest of the nuts in Janken's teacup. Janken did as well. Wembley said, "Oops. You'd drop them in my teacup, not yours."

"You said to do what you did," Janken pointed out.

"Yeah, but we're supposed to be mirroring each other. It's all right, we're just practicing now. Let's start over."

Wembley cleared away the nutshells. Red said, "Here, use these."

She tossed a pair of pink ribbons down to them. The others looked at her in surprise. Red said, "What? You've seen my hair down before."

Janken said, "You look neat like that."

"Thanks, kid."

"Thanks, Red," Wembley said as he set the ribbons among the other props. To Janken he said, "Ready?"

"Ready!"

The others watched as Wembley and Janken played with the items, Janken's actions lagging a second behind Wembley's. Wembley was moving slowly, not playing any tricks, to make it easy on the child. After the final move—tying one of Red's ribbons around a teacup and turning it so the bow faced the other player, Wembley said, "You're catching on fast! Since you won, you lead the next game."

"Okay," Janken said.

They played. Wembley copied each of Janken's moves. After a while Wembley said, "That's more than ten."

"Sorry, I lost count," Janken said with a grin.

"Now I'm going to make it tricky," Wembley said.

"Okay."

Wembley arranged the props, and added a few more nuts and pebbles. He said, "Now watch closely." He scooped up all of the nuts on his side in one hand. Janken tried to do the same, but his hands were too small. He picked them up in both hands. Wembley said, "You could have called foul on me because I did something you couldn't do. But it's okay if you used both hands, so let's keep going."

"Yeah!"

Wembley balanced a nut on top of the pebble closest to Janken, then set another nut between it and the cup, and a third in a loop of ribbon. Janken did the same, placing the nuts carefully. Wembley held up one nut in front of his face, then put it on Janken's nose. Janken went cross-eyed for a moment, staring in surprise at the nut. Then he placed one on Wembley's nose.

The two stared at each other, and Janken struggled not to laugh and make the nut fall. Then Wembley removed the nut from his own nose and placed it with the others in his hand. Janken did the same, with relief; he couldn't watch Wembley's hands while balancing a nut on his nose! Wembley dropped nuts into his teacup, and Janken did the same. Then Wembley held his fist, palm downward, out toward Janken. Janken touched his fist to Wembley's. Wembley opened his hand, and a single nut fell out. Janken stared at it. He opened his hand, but nothing came out. "Was that foul?"

Wembley answered, "It was fair. The idea is that the leader tries to trick the follower, and the follower tries to guess what tricks the leader is going to play. But why don't you lead the next game?"

The two continued playing. Boober watched; he was an inveterate spectator. Gobo picked up his guitar and began playing a quiet, meandering tune. Mokey started to say something to Red, then didn't; her roommate was watching the game intently. Mokey wondered why. Red had never been that interested in playing 'mirror' before, as it wasn't physical enough for her.

The next time Wembley was the leader, he decided to give Janken an easy win. Close to the end of the game he opened his mouth and turned his nose down to distort his face comically, expecting Janken to call foul on him. Instead, Janken made the same face back at him.

Wembley stared at him, shocked. Then he said, "How did you do that?"

"How did you do that?" Janken echoed.

One move left, and Janken was determined to win this game. Wembley, at a loss, lightly beeped Janken's nose with a finger. Grinning, Janken beeped back. "That's ten. My turn!"

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," Wembley said. "Hey, everybody, look at this! Janken, do this again!" He made the same strange face again.

Janken copied him. When he saw his other parents' startled reactions, he said, "What?"

Excitedly Wembley said, "Have you ever seen anyone besides me do that?"

Gobo replied, "You're the only Fraggle I know with a double-jointed nose."

"Mokey, you try it!"

"I don't think I can, but here goes." She opened her mouth and tried to tilt her nose down, but was only able to manage an awkward gape. "That wasn't close, was it?"

"Nope," Wembley said happily. "How about you, Gobo?"

"You know my face isn't made of rubber like yours is," Gobo answered.

"Just try. C'mon, please?"

Gobo knew where Wembley was heading with this. "All right."

His attempt was worse than Mokey's; his nose didn't bend at all. Wembley said, "Now you, Boober."

"I'm no good at gurning."

Janken said, "It's easy! Just do this." He opened his mouth and turned his nose down so far it touched his tongue. "See?" he asked, his voice slightly muffled.

Boober sighed. He tried to copy Janken, and his effort was no more successful than Mokey's. Janken laughed and turned to Red. "Now you!"

Red's face was more flexible than the others', but she was still not in Wembley's league. Still, she made a face at Janken, making him giggle.

Wembley caught Janken up in a hug. "D'you know what this means? It means you had to have gotten that from me! You're _my_ son!"

"But I was before," Janken said, surprised.

"But this proves I'm your father for real!" He squeezed Janken again, then had a sudden thought. Looking around at the others, he said, "Um... I think I ought to bow out of the Midsummer Ritual tonight. It wouldn't be fair if I got lucky twice. I'll go with Red and Janken to the Poobahs' meeting tonight. If that's okay with everybody."

Mokey, Gobo, and Boober nodded agreement. Mokey said, "We'll miss you, Wembley."

Wembley grinned. "You'll do all right without me."

Everybody chuckled except for Janken, who did not understand the joke, and Red, who was stiff and tense. Janken was drawing in a breath to speak when Red blurted out, "Um, I don't know how to say this without hurting anyone's feelings, and I really don't want to do that, so—nobody get upset, okay?"

"What's on your mind, Red?" Mokey asked, surprised by Red's sudden change of mood.

Red's tail was twitching nervously. Hands clenched together, she said, "Well... I always felt like it'd be _right_ for me and Gobo to have a baby. Not that I don't love you, Boober and Wembley! But… I was thinking, next time I'll be ready to be a mother." She swallowed hard, then asked Gobo, "Would you wait for me?"

Gobo put his guitar aside and crossed the room to sit beside her. He put an arm around her shoulders and said softly, "Sure, I'll wait for you, Red."

She said in a squeaky voice, "Thanks."

Wembley said, "I understand, Red. I don't mind."

"I don't either," Boober told her. Red and Gobo had always been close; he couldn't be offended that she would choose him.

"That leaves just you and me for the Ritual," Mokey told Boober.

"It does, doesn't it," Boober agreed.

Gobo said, "I'll be going to the Poobah meeting too, then."

"Looks like that," Wembley agreed brightly.

Boober said, "Mokey, about this change of plans… could I speak with you?"

"Of course. Is anything wrong?"

"Not at all. I just had a thought..."

"Uh-oh, a thought!" Wembley elbowed Boober in the side. Boober flinched.

"Why don't we talk in your room, then?" Mokey suggested.

"All right. See you later," Boober said to the rest.

"Bye-bye," Janken said as Boober and Mokey left. Mokey looked back and smiled at him.

Gobo said to Red, "Maybe you and I ought to talk a little too."

"Yeah, let's go to my and Mokey's room. I bet she won't be back for a while."

Gobo chuckled. "I'll bet. See you guys tonight," he said to Wembley and Janken.

"See ya," Wembley said.

"Bye," Janken said as Gobo and Red, their arms around each other's shoulders, walked out.

Wembley said to Janken, "That leaves just you and me, kid." He knelt to put himself on eye level with the little Fraggle. "Jan, I really am happy you're my son. I didn't think I could be your father for the longest time, but still I always kinda hoped," he said softly.

Janken asked, "What should I call you now?"

"Well, my name's as good as ever. Or, well, Papa would make me _really_ happy."

"Okay... Papa," Janken told him.

Wembley hugged him tightly. Janken hugged back, but his stomach was tense. Not Papa Wembley as he had been before, just Papa. He was Janken's only father now. He pressed his face to Wembley's shoulder and shut his eyes.

* * *

><p><em>Fraggle Rock<em> and all characters except Janken are copyright © The Jim Henson Company. All copyrighted properties are used without permission but with much respect and affection. Janken and the overall story are copyright © Kim McFarland (negaduck9 at aol dot com). Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.


	2. I'll Remember Tonight

**The Mamas & The Papas  
>Part 2: I'll Remember Tonight<strong>  
>By Kim McFarland<p>

* * *

><p>It was early evening, and Gobo, Red, Wembley, Mokey, Boober, and Janken were clearing the clutter in Gobo and Wembley's room after an early supper. They often dined here, as Boober's room was too small to accommodate all of them comfortably and Mokey and Red's room was too cluttered.<p>

The cleanup didn't take long, as the meal Boober had provided was simple enough. A large, roasted radish, cooked just enough to soften it and allow the seasonings to penetrate the flesh; other vegetables that were good raw, their crunchy flesh contrasting with the softness of the radish, with dipping sauces; bread; and mixed berries. Normally he would have made a sauce for the berries too, but time had been tight that day, and washing dishes was not the quiet pleasure that cooking and laundry were.

They cleaned the dishes and stowed everything away quickly, as they all had better things to do than housework. Mokey and Boober tried to make a discreet exit, but Gobo said, "Where are you guys going?"

Boober flinched. Mokey answered, "We were planning to go to the Messin' Around Cave."

"Not someplace more, you know, private?" Red asked.

Boober replied, "Everyone's going to be parading around in silly robes and chanting nonsense in the Firefly Cavern. The Messin' Around Cave is on the other side of the Great Hall, so we'll have all the privacy we need."

"Huh, that's right," Wembley agreed.

"So if you'll excuse us..."

"Hey, we'll walk you over," Gobo said with an odd smile. "Think of it as a processional."

Mokey said, "That would be wonderful!"

Boober sighed, "It'll certainly be unsubtle."

Gobo slung his guitar strap over his shoulder. As they set out he strummed the strings and began singing a hiking song in a soft voice,

"Well, when the path is deep and stony  
>And the night is all around<br>And the way you must take is far away,"

Red joined in, singing in harmony with him.

"When your heart is lost and lonely  
>And the map cannot be found<br>Here's a simple little spell that you can say..."

Both picked up the tempo and sang energetically,

"You gotta face facts, act fast on your own,  
>Preparation, perspiration, dynamite determination!"<p>

Wembley laughed as the joke dawned on him, and he joined in the song.

"Pack snacks, make tracks all alone,  
>Don't be cute, time to scoot,<br>Head out for your destination!"

By the beginning of the next verse they were all singing, even Boober.

"Face facts, act fast on your own!  
>Preparation, perspiration, dynamite determination!<br>Pack snacks, make tracks all alone!  
>Chase the future, face the great unknown!"<p>

* * *

><p>When they reached the Messin' Around Cave it was unoccupied, as predicted. Red hugged Mokey hard and whispered, "Good luck!"<p>

"Thanks," Mokey answered.

"See you later, Mama," Janken said.

"I will. Have fun tonight."

"You too!"

All of the Fraggles laughed, and Gobo, Wembley, Red, and Janken departed, leaving Boober and Mokey alone. It suddenly seemed very quiet.

Boober said to her, "This isn't what I expected..."

"Me either. But I'm not sorry."

"Neither am I," he said softly. He looked up into Mokey's warm smile for a moment, then said, "Let me check something. It'll only take a second. 'Kay?"

"Okay."

He went back into the cave. She followed. He put his shoulder to a rock and rolled it aside. Behind it was some folded cloth. He moved that, revealing a basket underneath. "Good, nobody found it."

"You packed a picnic too?"

"Face facts, make tracks, pack snacks," he answered with a small smile. He returned the basket to its hiding spot, but did not roll the rock back into place. Then he looked at her and said, "Um."

Poor Boober, Mokey thought. He was a little shy sometimes. He still needed someone else to break the ice. She embraced him. The long, drooping sleeves of her robelike sweater enfolded him, hiding all but his head. He put his arms around her under her sweater and breathed in her scent, with the special, subtle undertone she had only once a year.

After a moment she let him go. She leaned back just enough to meet his eyes, and touched his cap. He tilted his head down. She lifted the cap off, revealing a mop of bright red hair. He reached up under her sweater and put his hands on her shoulders, then slid them back. She lowered her arms so he could slip her sweater off.

He folded her sweater and set it on a clean rock, and she set his cap on top of that. Then she untied his scarf and set it on the pile. He reached up to touch her beaded necklace, and she bent forward so he could lift it over her head.

She looked so different without her sweater, he thought. Slender and tall. Elegant. She would have been intimidating if not for her familiar, gentle smile.

He'd be fine, she knew; despite his serious expression, his tail was wagging. His tail never lied. Both knelt facing each other, so close their knees were touching. Softly they sang the song that began the Midsummer Ritual:

"Let our hands touch, as one,  
>Let our eyes meet, as one,<br>Let our hearts beat as one heart.  
>Let us breathe as one for now.<p>

"Make of our joy new joy,  
>Bring from our lives new life.<br>Now it begins, now it starts,  
>Join hands, join hearts,<br>Breathe the breath of life in now."

She put her hands on his cheeks. He rested his hands on her legs so he could lean forward to meet her, and they kissed.

* * *

><p>The others had gone back to Gobo and Wembley's room. Red and Gobo were sitting side by side in Gobo's nook and talking softly. Wembley was showing Janken a set of robes. The colors were somber, but they were decorated with embroidery and appliqués that gave it as over-elaborate look, as if its maker had only stopped adding detail when there was no more room. "What do you think?"<p>

Janken looked at it skeptically. "It looks silly."

"Of course! That's the idea," Wembley said. "Mine's like that too, but it's not as neat-looking 'cause Mokey didn't make it. She joined after Gobo and Red and I did, and she didn't know at first that it was all a joke. Red really kinked her tail." Wembley glanced over, intending to draw her into the conversation, but she and Gobo were not listening, so he let them alone.

Janken could not share Wembley's enthusiasm. Now that Boober and Gobo were no longer his fathers, he only had Papa Wembley. He loved Wembley, but losing the others made his insides hurt. Aunt Red was distant now, and, he worried, because Mokey was going to have another child, maybe she wouldn't have time to be his mother too.

Wembley set the robe aside and put an arm around Janken's shoulders to draw him close. "Don't be nervous," he said gently. "You'll be fine. With as much spirit as you have, you'll fit right in."

Janken nodded halfheartedly. Fit in with the Poobahs? Who cared? He wanted his family, not some dumb club!

Wembley said, "I need to get some stuff. Be right back," to Janken, and patted his shoulder. Janken nodded. Wembley scampered out of the room, leaving Janken alone with Red and Gobo. Janken went over and tapped Gobo's foot.

"Hmm? What's up?" Gobo asked, looking down at the little Fraggle.

"What should I call you now?" Janken asked in a small voice.

"My name still works. Why?" Gobo answered, puzzled.

Janken just nodded and went back to the other side of the room. He sat down, looking at the robe and mask his mother made for him.

A few minutes later Wembley dashed back in, his arms loaded down with goofily ornate costuming. "They're about to start the procession," he exclaimed.

"Already?" Red asked, surprised.

"Yeah! C'mon, let's suit up!"

The adult Fraggles got into their ceremonial robes and helped each other put on their headdresses. Gobo remarked, "It's too bad that Mokey and Boober won't be there."

"Yeah," Red agreed. "We may have to twist Boober's arm to get him to go, but according to his tail he enjoys it whether he'll admit to it or not. And it doesn't hurt Mokey to loosen up either."

Adjusting his nose covering, Wembley said, "Yeah. Oh well, they'll only miss tonight." He glanced over, and saw that Janken had not started dressing. "Need some help, Jan?"

"I don't want to go. I don't feel good," the child mumbled.

Wembley took his headpiece off. "I'll stay with you if you feel sick," he said, concerned.

"No. I just wanna sleep. Alone," Janken said, a little shrilly.

Taken aback, Wembley said, "Well...okay, if that's what you want."

"Yeah."

Janken curled up and drew the robe over himself like a blanket. The others finished dressing. When they heard the beginning of the procession music Wembley patted Janken's head and said, "You sure?"

"Yeah. See you later."

"Okay."

When Janken was finally alone he listened to the song of the Poobahs. He couldn't be sure if he was hearing right; they didn't seem to make sense.

After a few minutes the song faded. Everyone would be in the Firefly Cavern—or the Messin' Around Cave—by now. Janken got up and ran out of the room.

* * *

><p><em>Fraggle Rock, "Face Facts, Pack Snacks, Make Tracks",<em> and all characters except Janken are copyright © The Jim Henson Company. All copyrighted properties are used without permission but with much respect and affection. Janken and the overall story are copyright © Kim McFarland (negaduck9 at aol dot com). Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.


	3. The 'In' Crowd

**The Mamas and The Papas  
>Part 3: The "In" Crowd<strong>  
>By Kim McFarland<p>

* * *

><p>Janken hurried through the passageways of Fraggle Rock, unseen by anything but cave creatures and a cluster of Inkspots. The twisty tunnels led upward, and finally opened in the Gorgs' garden.<p>

Hiding behind a fern, Janken looked around. Junior Gorg was tending the garden, and his father was dozing under a tree. Janken waited until Junior's back was turned, then hurried over to the low wall that bordered the garden. Neither Gorg saw him. He was not afraid of them; Ma and Pa tolerated Fraggles, and Junior was friendly, but Janken didn't want to talk with them now. Staying close to the wall, he went past the well and around to the back of the garden.

When he arrived at the home of the Trash Heap, the place looked abandoned. Janken knew better, however. He said, "Hello?"

With a sound of clinking glass and shifting material the Trash Heap lifted her head, then arose. She glanced around and said, "Where are those boys? Oh well." Looking at Janken, she said, "I guess I have to do my own introduction. I am the wise and all-knowing Trash Heap. Welcome to my presence. What are you doing here all alone, little Fraggle?"

"I'm Janken. I need help," he said in a small voice.

"Come here and tell me about it." She beckoned to him.

He approached. He was not sure where the general trash ended and she began; he only knew that the moving stuff was definitely her. He sat on a shiny cylindrical thing with paper around most of its middle and said, "I'm sad."

"What are you sad about?"

Janken looked at the ground. His stomach hurt when he thought about what seemed to be happening to his family. Two of his fathers were no longer his fathers, and he didn't know if his mother would still be his mother after she had another baby next spring. He felt sad and worried. It hurt to think of these things. It would hurt even more to say them; it would be like making them real.

The Trash Heap watched Janken. She could tell a lot from the child's expression. He was struggling with something. It must have taken a lot of courage for him to come to her all alone. She waited patiently.

He had to tell her about it, he knew. She couldn't help him if he didn't tell her what his problem was. She might be all-seeing and all-knowing, but she couldn't read his mind. He looked up and was about to speak, to blurt it out any way he could, when he heard a pair of familiar voices.

"Hey, Marjory! Look at this!"

"Yeah! We found some really snazzy stuff!"

Philo and Gunge, the Trash Heap's rodentlike associates, scuttled around the wall the same way Janken had come. They were manhandling a dustpan between the two of them, and on it was a collection of pink, wasp-waisted, cracked tubes.

"Lookit this neat stuff! I found most of it."

"Boys..."

"You did not! You just found the curlers."

"And you just found the dustpan. Hah, that's just one thing, but I got _nine_ curlers!"

That only counts as one!"

_"Boys!"_

They stopped squabbling and looked at her. She gestured at Janken. The rodents startled when they saw the visitor. Philo said, "We didn't notice you there."

Gunge added, "We thought you was a piece of purple garbage. Well, anyway, you are in the presence of the all-seeing-"

"All-knowing-"

"Trash Heap! Nyeah," they finished together.

"Now, what seems to be the problem?" Gunge asked.

"Yeah, speak up!"

"Never mind," Janken said, and slid off his perch.

Philo and Gunge watched him leave, his eyes downcast. Philo asked, "What was that all about?"

"I didn't get a chance to find out," The Trash Heap answered reproachfully.

"Eh, if he needs ya he'll be back," Gunge said.

"Yes, he will," she said as she watched the Fraggle disappear around the garden wall.

"Yeah," Philo said. Then he turned to the Trash Heap. "Get a load of this neat trash, Marjory! Ain't these the prettiest thingammies ya ever saw?" he said, holding up a pair of curlers.

Gunge stepped in front of Philo. "Never mind that. Look at this dustpan! A broken dustpan for a trash heap! We can use it to not clean up around here! Is that conceptual or what?"

* * *

><p>The procession of the Poobahs reached the Firefly Cavern. It took a while for everyone to enter, as they were traveling in single file. The processional song was dreary and somber, and they danced a suitably subdued conga line coming in.<p>

When the Poobahs were assembled, a white-bearded Poobah wearing a white robe decorated with crayon doodles ascended to the podium. "All right, listen up! I don't have time for a rolecall. If you're not here, speak up!"

"Absent!"

"Absent!"

"Absent, but I'll be here later!"

The World's Oldest Poobah glared at the three who had spoken. "Fritz, Fritz, and... Fritz, isn't it? Well, this won't look good on your records." The other members turned and glared at the absentees, grumbling darkly.

"Next order of business! Do we have any inductees?"

The Fritzes looked around among themselves. Then one said, "O-oopided-nay."

"Huh," the World's Oldest Poobah said, surprised. He had thought that the son of Gobo and all those others was going to join today. "Well, moving right along. As usual, we're gonna select a new High Mucky-Muck 'cause it's that time again. So, let's open up the floor to nominations."

Fritz said, "The floor doesn't open up. It just lies there."

Fritz replied, "A couple of hours with pickaxes and it'd open up!"

Poobahs started milling about, ready to grab tools. The World's Oldest Poobah declared, "Nominations first! Come on, I want to live long enough to pass the gavel!"

Fritz pointed at a Poobah who was trying to eat a cracker discreetly. "I nominate Fritz."

"All right, Fritz, what's your platform?"

Looking around, Fritz replied, "I don't stand on platforms. They usually break under me."

"Good as any and better'n some. Let's have some more!"

Fritz raised a hand and said, "I nominate Fritz." He pushed the Poobah next to himself forward.

Needing no prompting, Fritz declared, "If made the High Mucky-Muck, I promise to be worse than the others we've had."

The World's Oldest Poobah gave him a hard look, then said, "Tall order. Well, any others?"

"I nominate Fritz!"

After a long pause, The World's Oldest Poobah said, "Well? Care to get more specific?"

"Er, _I'm_ Fritz. Don't you recognize me?"

The World's Oldest Poobah leaned forward and squinted. "Oh, yes, I never forget a face. Well, is that it?" He looked around the chamber. "All right, now for the Ceremony of the Passing of the Gavel." He got down from the podium and made his way to the center of the cavern. The other Poobahs backed away to make room for him, more out of deference to his swinging staff than to him. "Right, Fritz, you stand in front of me." He turned a third of a circle. "Fritz, you here." He turned again. "And you..."

"Fritz."

"I knew that!" He drew back his staff as if to bop him, then stopped and pointed with it. "Right here."

When he was ringed by the three candidates, he said, "Everybody bow down! This is a solemn occasion!"

All of the assembled Poobahs got to their knees. The world's oldest Poobah said to the candidates, "Not you, you ninnies!" When they got back up, he said, "And now, the blindfold. Fritz, give me a hand here."

After the applause died down one Poobah stepped out of the crowd and tied The World's Oldest Poobah's beard over his eyes. He said, "Here we go!" and spun himself. His staff swung out and shattered a cracker.

The Poobahs cheered. The World's oldest Poobah pulled his beard off his face. "Eh? Who is it?"

"All hail the cracker!" one Poobah cried, and soon the others took up the cheer.

The World's Oldest Poobah bent down for a moment. Then he raised his staff for silence. "Unfortunately, this cracker cannot lead us."

"It was chosen fair and square!" Fritz protested.

"Yes, it was, but unfortunately the ordeal was too much for it." The World's Oldest Poobah held up broken cracker fragments. "This is no longer a cracker. It has ceased to crack. It has gone to that great crisp box in the sky. It has crunched its last crunch. This is an ex-snack! Therefore, the title passes onto Fritz!" He bopped that Poobah on the head, causing him to drop another cracker.

"All hail Fritz!" the assembled Poobahs cheered.

The World's Oldest Fraggle handed Fritz a small pickaxe. "Have fun with it, sonny," he said, grinning under his nose covering.

Fritz ascended to the podium. He opened his mouth to speak. Before he started a voice from the back shrilled, "He is no leader!"

The assembly looked back. One Poobah wearing a particularly elaborate mask with winglike decorations on the sides, making him look as if his head was about to fly away, strode forward determinedly. "He was not selected properly. I do not recognize him as leader!"

"I'm _Fritz_. Don't you recognize me?"

"I don't know you from Fritz, and I say you are no leader! I challenge you to combat for the title of High Mucky-Muck!" He took something long and colorful out of his sleeve as he strode up to the podium. He whirled it about once, then swatted Fritz across the mask. Leaving the argyle sock draped across Fritz's nose, Fritz said, "I challenge you to a duel to the death, or at least extreme indignity, tomorrow. Prepare yourself!" Without waiting for an answer he turned and strode back the way he had come.

* * *

><p>"—Not much got done after that," Red said, grinning. "Who could follow up an act like that?"<p>

Mokey, sitting on her bed and wearing her nightgown, laughed. Red was taking off her Poobah getup and putting it aside. She draped the robe over a rock spar and hung the headpiece on her tug-o'-tails trophy. Mokey said, "It sounds like I missed quite a show."

"It's not over yet," Red said. "They'll have it out tomorrow. You can see the finale."

"Well, actually, Boober and I were planning to continue the Midsummer Ritual tomorrow."

Red, now getting into her pajamas, said "You are?" in surprise.

"Yes. After all, timing is everything, and I'm not completely sure about tonight," Mokey explained calmly. "Better to be safe than sorry, after all."

"Uh huh. Are you sure that's the _only_ reason why?" Red said with a smirk.

"What other reason could I have?" Money asked innocently.

Red rolled her eyes. The last time she had joined the Midsummer Ritual, it had been for one evening only. But then, it had been three against one. This time the odds were even. "Whatever you say. If you can't get it right the first time..."

"Then try again for luck," Mokey said with a silly smile.

"Luck? Luck has nothing to do with it!"

Mokey leaned back in her bed. "Boober wouldn't agree."

"Whatever. It's just a shame that Janken backed out of joining the Poobahs."

"He did? Why?"

"Wembley thinks he was just nervous. He didn't even go to the meeting. I hope he'll come tomorrow night."

"I hope so too," Mokey said, a thoughtful expression on her face.

* * *

><p>When Gobo and Wembley came back to their room, Janken was lying awake in his improvised bed. Wembley and Gobo described the evening's entertainment to him. Despite his tension, Janken smiled. It did sound funny.<p>

Now Gobo and Wembley were preparing to bed down for the night. Wembley said from his sleeping nook halfway up the wall, "One thing I keep wondering about. Who was that?"

"Who?"

"Fritz."

"Ahem."

"You know who I mean! The one who challenged Large Marvin. He was making his voice squeaky so I couldn't recognize it. His hair and his tail were covered up, and he was wearing gloves, so I couldn't see what his colors were."

"I think he's meant to be a mystery," Gobo said.

"Yeah, of course," Wembley agreed. "And you're supposed to wonder about mysteries, aren't you?"

"Well, yes," Gobo said.

"At first I thought of Marlon, 'cause it's the kind of thing he'd do, but I don't think so. He didn't talk like him at all."

"It wasn't him. I'd recognize his eyes."

"Oh, yeah. So... I dunno. I guess we'll find out tomorrow." To Janken he said, "I hope you'll come with us."

Janken nodded noncommittally. Gobo blew out the lantern, leaving the room lit only by the orange flicker of the fireplace in one corner and a few insomniac Ditzies. Wembley said, "Good night, Janken, Gobo."

Gobo said, "Good night."

Janken said, "'Night."

After a minute Janken slid out of his bed as silently as he could and tiptoed across the floor. He whispered to Gobo, "Can I sleep with you tonight, Uncle Gobo?"

"Huh? Sure." Gobo scooted over, and Janken climbed up into his sleeping nook and slid in under the blanket. Janken was old enough to sleep by himself, and most of the time he did, but once in a while, when he felt lonely or unhappy, he would crawl in with one parent or another for security. He curled up beside Gobo. Gobo ruffled his hair affectionately, then closed his eyes to go to sleep.

Janken had been very quiet, but Wembley had excellent hearing, and had heard every word. Janken must have gone to Gobo because he was closest. A sleepy little Fraggle wouldn't want to climb a ladder, he told himself. Still, he couldn't help feeling a little hurt.

* * *

><p><em>Fraggle Rock<em> and all characters except Janken are copyright © The Jim Henson Company. All copyrighted properties are used without permission but with much respect and affection. Janken and the overall story are copyright © Kim McFarland (negaduck9 at aol dot com). Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.


	4. The Right Somebody to Love

**The Mamas and The Papas  
>Part 4: The Right Somebody to Love<strong>  
>By Kim McFarland<p>

* * *

><p>Janken woke up in the middle of the night and looked around Wembley and Gobo's room. When the Ditzies slept, their light faded almost entirely. The familiar caves of Fraggle Rock felt alien when they were so dark and quiet.<p>

Janken closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep cozied up to Papa Gobo—no, he remembered sadly, Uncle Gobo. Wembley was his only father now. He wanted to go back to sleep and forget that for a while.

Sleep did not come. Eventually he gave up and eased out of bed. Gobo did not awaken when Janken left his sleeping nook. He walked up the steps, then paused at the entrance, listening to Wembley and Gobo's breathing. It was a comforting sound.

He silently padded through passageways he had walked so many times he could navigate them with his eyes shut. He was sure of this; he had once tried it as a challenge to himself. After a few minutes he entered Aunt Red and Mama Mokey's room. He had to walk carefully here, especially when crossing Red's side, as it was full of clutter. He didn't want to make noise and wake them or Mokey's pet plant Lanford. He got mean when awakened in the middle of the night.

He made it over to his mother's bed without incident and climbed in. Her eyelids fluttered open briefly. Then she put her arm around him and drew him close. He cuddled up to her and, lulled by her scent, the scent that he had associated from birth with comfort and love, went to sleep again.

* * *

><p>Mokey woke early the next morning when the first rays of light shone into the room and found Janken by her side. He hadn't gone to bed here. She did not remember his arrival in the middle of the night. Lately he had been asserting his independence by sleeping in Boober's or Wembley and Gobo's room. It was strange that he had come back during the night.<p>

She quietly eased out of bed. She walked over to her gong, picked up its mallet, said very softly, "Let the ceremony begin," and lightly tapped the metal with its padded head, producing a soft humming sound. She had not struck the gong with full force in years; Red simply could not be persuaded to greet the morning with her, and if Red's complaints had not discouraged her, then Janken's birth would have. Banging a gong near a baby who had finally gotten to sleep would be an act of madness.

Red, sleeping in her hammock, did not notice the gong's soft tone. When Mokey turned back she saw Janken had awakened. "Good morning," she said softly.

"Morning," he mumbled, wiping his eyes as he sat up.

She sat on her bed, legs folded, and began bowing at the waist and chanting softly, "Good morning, spirit of the rock. Welcome, bright and glorious new day."

Usually Janken went back to sleep while she did her welcoming-the-morning ceremony, if he woke up at all. This time, however, he sat up and listened. After a minute he folded his legs like hers—more or less; her nightgown obscured them. He bowed when she did, and because he did not know all the words to her chant he hummed softly.

Mokey smiled when she saw Janken mimicking her. He smiled back, pleased with his success. Red, who had been awakened by the different sound of the chant, grinned to herself at Mokey and her cute little imitator.

When she finished welcoming the day he scooted over and sat in her lap. For a few minutes he sat quietly, leaning against her warm body. Then he asked, "Mama, are you growing a baby now?"

Mokey answered. "I think so. If it's not there yet, it will be tomorrow."

"Don't you know?" he asked, puzzled.

"Timing is very important, and yesterday may have been a little early. So Boober and I will continue the Midsummer Ritual tonight, just to be sure."

"If you're already growing a baby, will you have two then?" he asked.

She laughed softly. "No, Fraggles just have one at a time."

He sat quietly, listening to the beat of her heart. She cuddled him and stroked his hair gently. When he spoke again he asked, "After the baby is born, will you still be my Mama?"

Surprised, she looked down at him. He looked back up with pleading eyes. She hugged him and said, "Of course I will! I'll always be your mother, and you'll always be my son. Nothing will ever change that."

He hugged her and sniffled. In her hammock, Red sniffled softly too, hoping the others wouldn't notice. She didn't know why something like this was affecting her... yes, she did, she admitted to herself. Hopefully they wouldn't notice she was awake. She closed her eyes.

"Were you worried about that last night?" she asked. He nodded without speaking. She told him, "You'll always have me, Janken. I promise."

He looked up. "You swear?"

"Yes, I do."

"Solemn oath?"

She raised her hand and said, "I, Mokey Fraggle, will always be Janken Fraggle's mother. Weeba weeba, waffa waffa, garpox gumbage, whoopee!"

He hugged her again and sniffled happily, "Thanks, Mama."

As Mokey cuddled her child Red opened her eyes just a slit. Red admitted to herself that she wanted to be like that. She wanted to be that special someone for a child. By the time their family was ready to bring another little Fraggle into the world she would be ready, she told herself.

* * *

><p>Later that day, Janken went into a downward-leading tunnel from the Main Hall and reached a cave that was decorated to look from the outside like a little hut. He tapped on the door. A voice sang out from within, "Coming, coming!" A bespectacled Fraggle whose pink hair was streaked with white opened the door a moment later and looked around, then down. "Oh, hello, Janken. Come in! What kind of story do you want today?"<p>

He entered and sat on a cushion on the floor. Lately he was The Storyteller's most regular customer, and that was where he always sat to listen to her. He said, "I'd like a happy story."

"I think I have one of those. How about _The First Pet Thimble Beetle?"_

Janken liked thimble beetles. They were cute, and they cleaned up crumbs. "Okay."

The Storyteller sat down and began, "Well, very long ago there was a Fraggle boy. He was smart and energetic, and had beautiful brown fur and blond hair and a _wonderful_ singing voice. He used to explore everywhere he could. Whenever a new tunnel was found, he would be the first to go in, ready to face any danger that might lurk within."

Janken recognized the unnamed boy in the story. Whenever she had a story about a Fraggle boy, it was always the same one, according to her description. He couldn't be anyone Janken knew; there were no young brown-and-blond Fraggles in the Rock. Janken asked, "What was his name?"

"Um... I'm not sure," she said. "Anyway, this boy had faced down a poison cackler and an avalanche monster. He'd escaped from clinging creepers and even seen a hairy-chested batworm. He was afraid of nothing! So when he found a new tunnel that led further out from Fraggle Rock than any Fraggle had ever gone, what do you suppose he did?"

"He went in."

"That's right! He explored it to see what was inside! It was dark and quiet in there, and he heard a soft sound. He didn't know what it was. At first he thought it was invisible because he couldn't tell where it came from. But was he afraid? Of course not! He took out his pickaxe, ready for whatever might come. And then he heard the noise right behind himself. He turned and saw, on a rock, the first thimble beetle any Fraggle had ever seen.

"That thimble beetle spoke to him. It said, 'What are you?'"

Janken said, "Thimble beetles don't talk."

The Storyteller replied, "This thimble beetle did. It asked him about Fraggles, and he told it about singing and dancing and swimming and climbing and exploring and all the other wonderful things that Fraggles do. The thimble beetle became so excited that it asked him to take it back to Fraggle Rock. At first he didn't want to, because this was before any Fraggle had ever kept a pet. He didn't think it was right to take a creature away from its home. But the beetle promised to make Fraggle Rock its home, and eat the crumbs that he dropped so he wouldn't have to sweep up, and he said yes.

"So, he took the thimble beetle home. Everyone thought it was wonderful! It was cute, and it kept the floor clean, and it always came when the boy called for it. It had become the first pet in Fraggle Rock.

They were happy together for years and years. Then, one day, the boy was exploring that same tunnel when he heard a familiar chirp. He thought it was his pet, come to visit its old home. He called out to it, but it didn't come, it only chirped at him. He followed the sound into the darkness. The tunnel ended with a boulder, and the chirping was on the other side. He swung at the rock with his pickaxe, and with a mighty blow he shattered the rock. On the other side of it was a big, brightly-lit cavern. And what do you think was there?"

"His beetle?" Janken asked.

"No. Millions and _millions_ of thimble beetles! So many you could never count them in your life! They all looked just like his pet, and they all sounded just like his pet. The thimble beetle that he thought was so special, so unique, was just one of millions of other bugs, all alike."

"What did he do?"

"He stood there awhile, just looking at all the thimble beetles. Then he went back home again and looked for his beetle. It saw him and crawled out of its little nest to say hello. He said, 'There are other thimble beetles.'

"The thimble beetle answered, 'There are other Fraggles.'

"'I thought you were the only thimble beetle there was.'

"'I thought you were the only Fraggle there was. I was disappointed at first when you brought me here and I saw that you were only one of many Fraggles, but then I realized that you are the most important Fraggle in the world to me. You're the Fraggle who tamed me and made me your pet, and that makes you _my_ Fraggle.'

"The boy went quiet. Those words made him realize that his thimble beetle _was _one of a kind. In all the world, it was the only creature that he had made his pet, and at the same time he was the only Fraggle who had made it his pet. _That _was what made them special and unique to each other. So, when more thimble beetles came through that tunnel and other Fraggles made them pets, he didn't mind. He still had the beetle that was special to him, and _that_ was what mattered."

Quietly Janken said, "Thank you, Storyteller."

"You're welcome," she told him with a smile.

He got up to leave, saying "I'll tell Great-Uncle Matt you said hi."

She hadn't even made the request yet, but by now he knew that she would. She liked his great-uncle a lot, Janken could tell. She said, "Bye-bye, see you soon."

As she watched the little Fraggle leave she thought that it was nice to have such an attentive audience. He came to hear her stories regularly, and he listened all the way to the end, unlike certain other Fraggles. Once in a while he even told her a story! He showed promise, she thought; maybe he would become a storyteller when he grew up.

* * *

><p>Janken walked back up to the Great Hall. He could hear the voices of many Fraggles long before he arrived. He picked out Red's voice among the babble, then Wembley's. He hurried up.<p>

When he emerged into the Great Hall he saw the usual sight: Fraggles playing, singing, and generally enjoying themselves. All of his family was swimming in the pond in the center of the hall. Well, almost all; Boober was sitting on the side, dangling his feet in the water.

Watching them all play together made Janken feel better. Mokey had laid one of his fears to rest, and the Storyteller's tale had lifted his spirits too, though he could not have explained why, even to himself. Now, seeing them all laughing and splashing made him smile.

Wembley, his fluffy blond hair plastered down by water, caught sight of Janken and waved. "Hey! Come on in!"

Without hesitation Janken ran to the pond and flung himself in with a huge splash.

* * *

><p><em>Fraggle Rock<em> and all characters except Janken are copyright © The Jim Henson Company. All copyrighted properties are used without permission but with much respect and affection. Janken and the overall story are copyright © Kim McFarland (negaduck9 at aol dot com). Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.


	5. Free Advice

**The Mamas and The Papas  
>Part 5: Free Advice<br>**By Kim McFarland

* * *

><p>This evening began much the way the previous one had. Boober served dinner in Wembley and Gobo's room because it had the most space, and the entire family ate together while chatting about that night's plans. As before, Gobo, Wembley, and Red would meet with the Poobahs, and Boober and Mokey would attend to other matters in the Messin' Around Cave. They had taken some teasing over that. Neither minded, however. If a thing was worth doing at all, it was worth doing well. Or, as Red remarked, overdoing.<p>

Janken was acting a little odd, Boober noticed. Ever since he found out he was Wembley's son he had seemed upset. Boober knew all about youthful angst, and Janken often came to him when he was unhappy. He had, in fact, stuck with Boober all afternoon after they had left the pond, and had helped Boober prepare tonight's meal. Boober had thought that Janken wanted to talk about what was on his mind, but he hadn't said a word. Boober didn't push him; when he was ready to speak up he would.

Now they had cleared away the aftermath of the dinner, and Red, Wembley, and Gobo were eagerly anticipating the showdown at the Poobahs' meeting tonight. Janken was not as enthusiastic. He wasn't in the mood for a bunch of silliness with a big crowd of Fraggles. The more he thought about it, the less he wanted to go.

Wembley could see Janken's spirits sink as the time to leave approached. He was disappointed; things had been going so well today, and he had thought that yesterday's moodiness was just a fluke. Now it looked like that was not the case. He sat beside Janken and asked, "What's the matter?"

Janken looked around. The rest of his family was chattering energetically. Janken didn't want to talk about it now. He looked at the floor.

Wembley gently put an arm around Janken's shoulders. "You can tell me. I'm your papa," he said softly.

He tried to pull Janken close, but the boy stiffened. Without looking up he said, "I don't want to go."

"You don't have to if you don't want to," Wembley told him. "I'll stay with you."

"I don't want you to. I want to be alone. To think."

"Well... okay, if that's what you want," Wembley said.

"Yeah."

Wembley sat with Janken for a while, hoping that the child would say something more, but he did not. When it came time for Mokey and Boober to leave, Mokey came over and said to Janken, "Give me a hug for luck!"

Janken hopped up and hugged Mokey, who had knelt down, around the neck. "Good luck, Mama!" Then he turned and surprised Boober with a hug. Boober was short enough that Janken could hug him around the lower chest. "Good luck," Janken repeated.

"Thanks," Boober said with a wry smile. Gobo and Red were grinning the same grin at him, and loudly refraining from commenting.

* * *

><p>Mokey and Boober left—this time without fanfare—and Red, Gobo, and Wembley put on their Poobah costumes. Janken watched quietly. When it was time for them to leave Wembley laid a hand on Janken's back and said, "Sure you don't want to come? You can just watch."<p>

"No, thanks."

"Well—sure you want to stay home by yourself? I don't mind staying with you so you don't get lonely."

"I'm okay. I wanna think," Janken said.

Wembley gave up. "All right," he said, and patted Janken's back.

Hearing the beginning of the processional music, Gobo, Red, and Wembley left the room. As they walked through the tunnels Wembley sighed. "Gobo, is it just me, or is Janken acting funny?"

"He's been kind of quiet since yesterday."

"It's more than just that. It's like... almost like he's afraid of me."

Red said, "Afraid of you? Who could be afraid of _you?"_

Gobo said, "I don't think it's anything to worry about. He's probably just nervous about Mokey having another baby."

Red said, "Yeah. I heard him and Mokey talking about it this morning. He was worried that she wouldn't be his mother anymore."

"Really?" Wembley said.

"Yeah."

Gobo said, "Don't worry about it, Wembley. Janken's okay. If he was really upset he'd say something, eh?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Wembley said.

* * *

><p>When Janken could no longer hear the processional music he left the room. He knew where he wanted to go. He had thought about it all day, and there was one person who might understand how he felt.<p>

He ran through the tunnels and once again surfaced in the Gorgs' garden. It was early evening, and Junior Gorg was watering the vegetables. Janken went around him so he could approach from the front. He walked over between the rows of radishes and shouted, _"Hey!"_

Junior glanced around. He did not lift his feet; he didn't want to accidentally squash anybody. When he saw the purple fuzzball among the red radishes he waved down. "Oh, hi there."

"Hi. Why are you watering now? Wouldn't it cool the plants off if you watered in the middle of the day, when it was hotter?" Janken asked.

"If I did that, they could get sunburned," Junior replied.

Plants got sunburned? Only recently had Fraggles started coming aboveground long enough to learn about sunburn. Janken, having light purple skin, wasn't very vulnerable, but Wembley and Red, who were yellow-skinned, burned easily. It was painful, so they said, and scary-looking too. Janken said, "Could I talk to you about something?"

"Sure." Junior put down the watering can. "The gwound's all wet. Can I put you on the table?"

"All right."

Junior's huge, hairy hand closed carefully around Janken. The Fraggle closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. He was not afraid of the Gorg, but the feeling of being lifted so quickly and so high made him queasy. Junior set him on his feet on the table and sat at one of the seats. Leaning his chin in his hand, Junior asked, "So, what's up?"

"What's it like having two parents?" Janken asked.

Junior blinked, surprised by that question. Of all the things he thought a Fraggle would be curious about, his family was not one of them. He said, "Well, they sure do outnumber me, especially at spwing cleaning time. Mommy tells me to thwow evewything out and Daddy tells me to bwing it all wight back."

"What else is it like?"

"Well... they give me a lotta chores. There's guarding the castle, even though we're no longer wulers of the universe." He glanced toward the castle, then lowered his voice. "I never did figure out why we still gotta do that, but just doing it's easier than arguing about it with Pa."

Janken smiled. The Gorgs could be as silly as the Poobahs, he thought, and they didn't even mean to be.

"And they're always either arguing or making lovey-dovey." Junior rolled his eyes.

"Oh yeah. Mine are like that too," Janken said.

"But, well, I guess it's all right," Junior said. "Ma's a gweat cook. She makes all sorts of good stuff for me. The things she can do with garlic! And Pa... well, he's my Pa." Junior shrugged cheerfully. "Last week he showed me how to fish, and how to pull fishhooks out of my thumb."

"Do you ever get lonely?" Janken asked.

"Nahh. When Ma and Pa are busy, I got the garden and you Fwaggles. Say, you have thwee daddies and two mommies, don't you? What's that like?"

Janken wished that Junior had not asked that. But, he knew, it was a fair question. He couldn't tell Junior about what had recently happened, though. It still hurt to think about it. He'd answer as if it was a few days ago. Junior wouldn't know any better. "It's nice. They're all different from each other, and they all do different things, but they all love each other and me."

"But isn't it complicated?" Junior asked.

Janken shook his head. "No. Why would it be complicated?"

"Well, who's the boss and chores and stuff."

Janken shrugged. "Nobody's the boss. Everyone does different things, and when someone needs help, someone else helps. I helped make dinner tonight. And when clinging creepers grow near us _everyone_ puts flowers all over to scare 'em off. That's fun!"

"_Evewyone _helps with the chores instead of making one person do 'em all? Gee," Junior said, amazed by the revolutionary concept. "It must be fun to be a Fwaggle. But I think I'll keep my two parents. If I had five it'd be like a battlefield!"

Janken said, "I guess it wouldn't work for Gorgs."

"Yeah, guess not."

"Um, could you put me on the ground? I wanna talk to the Trash Heap."

"Sure." Junior picked Janken up again and carried him to the garden wall. He leaned over a broken section and dropped Janken into a pile of leaves.

Janken yelped, then reappeared from under the leaves. He waved, grinning, to Junior. "Thanks!"

"See you later," the Gorg said, and left.

Philo, the Trash Heap's pink, ratlike associate, said, "Y'know, when the all-seeing, all-knowing Trash Heap, in whose presence you happen to be, said you Fraggles could drop in anytime, I'm pretty sure this isn't what she meant."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to," Janken said.

The Trash Heap was already rising. She said, "Don't worry about it. I heard you coming. So, you're still troubled?"

"Yeah," Janken admitted.

"It's got something to do with your family, doesn't it?"

"Yeah..."

"Let me tell you something about yourself," she said. "You're an unusual Fraggle because you like to reach out in directions other Fraggles would never think of. You came to me all by yourself, you go exploring with your great-uncle, you talk to Junior Gorg! Someday that's going to be more important than you can imagine. But right now you need to think carefully about _who_ you need to reach out to."

"Who?" Janken asked.

"Think about it," she said softly. "This problem isn't mine to solve, it's yours. But you don't have to do it all alone. Think about who could really help you, and tell _them_ why you're unhappy."

"Couldn't you tell me who?" he persisted.

She replied, "I think you already know."

He looked at the ground for a while. Then he raised his eyes back to hers. "What if it hurts their feelings?"

"You might be surprised," she said gently.

"I don't want to be surprised. I want things to be the same."

"Then go to the ones who can make it the same." She held a pink tube out to Janken.

He took it. It was longer than his tail, and wasp-waisted, with holes all along its length. It was lighter than it looked. He asked, "Is this magical? Will it help?"

"What do you think?"

He turned it over in his hands. It was worn, and there was a crack in one side. "It's not magical. It's just neat-looking."

"It's called a tchotchke," she informed him. "It's whatever you make of it."

He looked at it again, trying to work out what this had to do with his problem.

She told him, "Take that home with you, and if you feel afraid to talk about your problem, look at it and remember what I told you."

Hearing their cue, Philo and Gunge said, "The Trash Heap has spoken."

Janken said, "Thank you, Trash Heap," politely but halfheartedly as he waded through the leaf litter surrounding the Trash Heap proper.

After Janken was gone from sight Gunge said, "You sure let him off easy, Marjory."

Philo said, "Yeah. You coulda gotten at least two verses and a chorus outta that one, then sent him home with some mumbo-jumbo that'd have him scratching his head for days in the name of personal growth."

"He's just a little boy. Making him face his problem head-on is enough," she answered.

"If you say so," Philo said with a shrug.

"I do." She paused and eyed Philo. _"Mumbo-jumbo?"_

Gunge quickly edged away from his friend. Philo said, "Uh, I meant inscruitable words of wisdom'!"

"That's better," she said, and sank back into the ground.

* * *

><p>Janken plodded through the caves leading home. He thought he understood the Trash Heap's advice. He just didn't think it would do any good. But what else could he do?<p>

Nobody else knew how he felt. Nobody could help him. He was all alone. Everybody was somewhere else. He found himself walking toward Boober's room. When he felt sad like this, it was Boober he wanted to see. Boober didn't try to cheer you up if you didn't feel like being cheerful. He let you be sad until you were ready not to be sad any longer.

Of course Boober was not there. He would be with Mokey for a while. Janken knew what the Midsummer Ritual involved. Making a baby Fraggle was complicated, hard work, which was why people went away to do it: if they got interrupted they might mess up, and then they'd have to wait until next year. Maybe something went wrong last night and that was why they were trying again today. Janken would wait until they were done.

He sat down on Boober's bed, holding the pink tchotchke the Trash Heap had given him. It did make him feel a little better. It was as if a little bit of her was with him now, keeping him company.

* * *

><p><em>Fraggle Rock<em> and all characters except Janken are copyright © The Jim Henson Company. All copyrighted properties are used without permission but with much respect and affection. Janken and the overall story are copyright © Kim McFarland (negaduck9 at aol dot com). Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.


	6. Straight Shooter

**The Mamas and The Papas  
>Part 6: Straight Shooter<strong>  
>by Kim McFarland<p>

* * *

><p>The Poobahs assembled in the Firefly Cavern with great pomp and ceremony. The roll was called, and established that those who were present were there and those who were absent were not, with a few notable exceptions.<p>

The recently-established new High Mucky-Muck of the Poobahs ascended to the podium and tapped with the miniature pickaxe that served as a gavel. "I-I call this meeting to order," he said, sounding a little nervous.

"I don't take orders! But I will entertain a polite request," Fritz replied.

Another spoke up. "Then I'll politely request some Whoopie Water. On the rocks!"

"Whoopie Water is _in_ the rocks."

The Mucky-Muck let the chatter go. One unspoken rule of the Poobahs was to let any silliness run its course. After all, that was their whole purpose. When the stream of consciousness had flowed to its logically absurd conclusion he said, "Do we got any new Poobahs-to-be?"

"Do you see anyone here besides Fritz?" a shrill voice answered.

The other Poobahs turned, then parted to make way for the Poobah in the gaudy costume and the winged headpiece. He strode right past Gobo, who tried to see any hint of skin and hair color beneath the costume. He was wearing off-white gloves and socks of a similar color. What little they could see beneath his mask also looked off-white. His tail was completely hidden.

"I formally challenge you in the ancient, honorable language of the honorable ancients! I-ruffafluff allenge-ruffafluff-ch ou-ruffafluff-y o-ruffafluff-t a-ruffafluff uel-rufafluff-d!"

There was a dramatic pause and a lot of mumbling and lip movement while everyone translated this statement for themselves. Then the Mucky-Muck replied, "Es-ruffafluff-y."

"Very good!" The challenger reached into the folds of his robe and took out a large sack. He glared around at the assembled Fritzes, then produced two slingshots. "The weapon will be slingshots at ten paces. Whoever wins gets the title of their choice!"

The Mucky-Muck came down from the podium and took one of the slingshots. It was a sturdy tool, used for discouraging predators at a distance when traveling through outer caves. Fraggles did not wield these against other Fraggles! He looked at his challenger nervously. The challenger grinned back. "Are you afraid?"

The Mucky-Muck whispered, "I-it's not funny if someone really gets hurt!"

Fritz appeared not to hear. "Here is the ammunition. We each get one shot!" He handed him what looked like a palm-sized, golden brown stone, but was much lighter.

The Mucky-Muck saw that part of it flaked off in his hand. "Ohh," he said, understanding.

Fritz called out, "Ten paces! Make room!"

The other Poobahs moved back. The two stood back to back, walked ten paces forward, turned, and raised their slingshots. The Mucky-Muck pulled back and shot first. The missile grazed Fritz's arm, leaving behind some light-colored dusty material, then hit the wall behind him. It shattered, leaving a large, dark stain and splattering the nearest Poobahs.

The Mucky-Muck braced himself, eyes closed, as Fritz raised his slingshot, pulled back on the pocket, aimed carefully, and released. The shot struck true, bursting against the Mucky-Muck's nose covering and spattering him with dark blue goo.

He sniffed, then touched the goo with a finger and licked it. Then he said, "Hey, hit me again!"

Fritz took out another missile—which was made of blueberry jam baked within a crust; in effect a small ball-shaped pie—and launched it. His aim was off, but the Mucky-Muck managed to dodge into the line of fire, so most of it hit his mouth.

Fritz turned to face the other Poobahs. "I have won the right to claim my title, and that title is... _Naysayer!"_

The Mucky-Muck turned to him, surprised. He had thought that he was going to make himself the new Mucky-Muck. He wouldn't have opposed him, as he supposed that he would be a better one. He said, "What's a Naysayer?"

"What do you think? One who says nay. I will tell you when you are all getting too silly!"

Fritz muttered, "Ask a silly question, get a silly answer."

The Naysayer nodded gravely. "Exactly. Now..." He leaned close to the Mucky-Muck. "They look much too clean," he said, glancing at the rest of the assembly.

The two exchanged looks. Then the Naysayer took a handful of pastries out of his pocket and handed them to the Mucky-Muck. They both began pelting the other Poobahs.

* * *

><p>After the meeting dissolved in chaos, Wembley, Red, and Gobo went over to Boober's room. They had a tale to tell, not to mention laundry to do. When they arrived they found that he wasn't there, but Janken was, sleeping on Boober's bed and holding a pink tubelike thing as if it was a doll.<p>

"Huh, Boober's not back yet? What's he doing out this late?" Wembley remarked. Red gave him a look, and he said, "Uh, forget I asked that."

Gobo said, "I'll meet you back home, eh?"

"Yeah, see you."

Gobo and Red left after putting their stained robes in Boober's laundry basket. Wembley added his robe to the pile, then went over to Janken. The boy opened his eyes when Wembley touched his shoulder. Softly Wembley said, "Hi, Janken."

Looking around, Janken asked, "Is it morning?"

"No, it's evening. What's that you have there?"

"It's a tchotchke. The Trash Heap gave it to me."

Wembley sat on the bed beside Janken. "She did? Neat. When did she give it to you?"

"Today. I talked with her today."

"What'd you talk about?"

Janken's arms tightened around the tchotchke. "Just stuff."

Wembley could hear the lie loud and clear. But he couldn't be mad. Something must really be bothering him if he went to see the Trash Heap all alone. "Jan? Why don't you tell me about it?"

Janken looked up at him for a long moment. Then his eyes squeezed shut. "I don't want to."

"Maybe I can help."

Janken closed his eyes and shook his head.

"Okay..." Wembley patted his shoulder again. "Want to come home with me? I'll carry you if you're too sleepy to walk."

"No. I want to sleep here."

What could Wembley say to that? After a long pause he said, "All right," and left.

* * *

><p>Gobo was in bed when Wembley returned. His shoulders sagged and his tail was dragging on the ground. Gobo said, "What happened?"<p>

"He didn't want to come back with me," Wembley answered sadly.

"Why?"

"He didn't say." He paused, then went on, "That pink thing he was holding, the Trash Heap gave it to him. He went to the Trash Heap, but he won't say anything about it to me."

Gobo could hear the hurt in Wembley's voice. As comfortingly as he could, he said, "He's a little kid with little kid problems. We'll work it out in the morning."

"I hope so. He won't talk to me."

Wembley started climbing the ladder to his sleeping nook. Gobo reached out and touched his arm. "It'll be all right, 'Papa'."

Softly Wembley said, "I wish _he'd_ call me that."

* * *

><p>Mokey and Boober returned to Boober's cave. Both were damp. She had taken a swim in the pool in the Messin'-Around Cave, and Boober, though he would not swim, liked to stand under a waterfall to get clean. And then there was the fun of drying each other off...<p>

Boober noticed the laundry basket. It was filled with fruity-smelling robes. He put some more cloth on top of that, then set the picnic basket down. He turned to speak to Mokey, but she wasn't looking at him. He followed her glance and saw that his bed was already occupied by a purple child.

They looked back at each other. Boober shrugged. She smiled ruefully. "Oh well."

They kissed goodnight for a few minutes. Then she left for her own room. Boober went over to his bed and patted the child. "Janken?"

"Mmmm?" He opened his eyes.

"You staying here tonight?"

He nodded. "Can I?"

"Sure."

"Thanks."

Boober hung up his hat and scarf and changed into his pajamas and nightcap. Glancing at the laundry basket, he thought that tomorrow would be a busy day for him. Those few robes wouldn't take long, especially if he presoaked them, but there would be many more. He supposed he should start the soak now, but at the moment even the call of laundry didn't tempt him.

He looked over at Janken. The way he was holding that pink thing, it reminded Boober of the way he had once clung to lucky charms. It was a thing that made him feel better. There was a story there, he thought.

He opened a box and took out a plate. Then he went over to the bed and got in. Janken scooted over. Boober offered the plate. "Cookie?"

Janken sniffed. They smelled of honey and blueberries. He took one and munched. The cookie was chewy rather than crumbly, and textured with sesame seeds.

Boober put an arm around Janken and took a cookie for himself. The two of them ate without speaking. Janken nibbled his cookie, savoring the taste and crunchy texture. When he finished his Boober was on his second, or possibly third; Janken hadn't paid attention. He didn't reach for another. He just leaned against Boober quietly.

After Boober finished his cookie he asked Janken, "Had enough?" Janken nodded. Boober put the plate on the table by his bed and blew out the lantern, then settled back down in bed.

After a quiet minute Janken whispered, "Boober?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you my uncle now?"

"I suppose so. Why?"

Janken didn't reply. Boober said, "Do you want me to be?" Janken didn't answer, and Boober felt him tense. "Don't want to talk about it now?"

"Uh-uh."

"Okay," Boober said. "But if you think of something to talk about, wake me up."

He felt Janken nod. The little Fraggle let go of the curler and cuddled up to Boober.

* * *

><p><em>Fraggle Rock<em> and all characters except Janken are copyright © The Jim Henson Company. All copyrighted properties are used without permission but with much respect and affection. Janken and the overall story are copyright © Kim McFarland (negaduck9 at aol dot com). Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.


	7. Blueberries for Breakfast

**The Mamas and The Papas  
>Part 7: Blueberries for Breakfast<strong>  
>by Kim McFarland<p>

* * *

><p>As soon as Boober woke up that morning he set the previous night's laundry to soak. The stains only looked bad; he knew that as soon as the jam was softened it would lift right off the fabric, and a little scrubbing with rock soap would remove the stains. Cleaning all the robes that would inevitably come to him would be a long task, but not a difficult one.<p>

Janken looked into the wooden tub. "Can I help?"

"Thanks, but I just have to soak those for a while. You can help me make breakfast."

"Okay."

Boober went to the pantry. He took down a jar of flour mixed with a few other ingredients and handed it to Janken, then took a smaller jar of honey and a bag of blueberries. The two went into the kitchen adjacent to Boober's room and set the items on the table. Boober opened the panel at the bottom of the oven. The wood inside was mostly burnt to ash, but he could see some coals. "Have to clean this out soon. Later today," he said to himself. He stuck in some more wood from a pile by the oven, then some kindling, and blew on it. Soon the wood was burning, and Boober closed the panel again.

Janken kept well away from the oven. It was very hot; he had burned himself when he had not taken Boober's warnings seriously enough. It was the kind of mistake you only made once. Now he gave it a wide berth.

Boober put some of the flour in the bowl and added honey and sweetwater. He gave Janken the blueberry bag and said, "Pick out a double handful of small, ripe ones."

"Okay." While Boober mixed the batter Janken picked out blueberries that were ripe but not too ripe. Many of the berries were as big as the last joint of his thumb, but some were smaller. It was a challenge to find berries that size that were ripe.

When Boober was finished stirring the batter—being careful not to overmix it; that would make it tough—Janken was done sorting the berries. He said, "That's good. Drop 'em in." Janken poured the berries into the batter and Boober stirred them in.

"What else can I do?" Janken asked.

"Bring some fruit from the pantry."

"What kind?"

"Whatever looks good."

Janken hurried off. Boober flicked a drop of water onto the slab of polished, seasoned slate that formed the roof of the oven, thinking about how clingy Janken had been lately. Something was going on with him. He hadn't wanted to talk about it last night; maybe he'd be more talkative this morning.

The first drop of water splattered on the slate. Boober put the jar of honey on one corner of the surface, where it would merely get warm. After waiting for a minute, he flicked more water onto the middle of the slate. This drop skipped and sizzled. Boober ladled batter onto the griddle-like surface. It spread out into small discs, which quickly began to bubble. Boober glanced back; Janken had brought a selection of berries, melon, and other kinds of fruit to the table, and was sorting and cutting them up with a look of great concentration. Boober picked up a spatula and turned the pancakes.

By the time Red and Mokey came in Boober was turning the last of the pancakes and Janken had finished preparing the fruit. He had cut it into bite-sized pieces and arranged it on a pair of plates. Mokey, seeing Janken, said, "Here you are!"

"Hi, Mama. I did the fruit."

"Oh, that looks beautiful," she said, admiring his artistry. He had arranged the fruit to look like an opening flower, though no flower ever showed such an arrangement of colors. If one did, Mokey would paint it immediately. She might anyway, she thought.

"Are you growing a baby now?" he asked.

She smiled. "Yes. I'm sure this time."

He hugged her. "Yay! I hope it's a girl. I want a sister."

She squeezed him, saying, "We'll know next spring."

Gobo and Wembley came in. Gobo said, "Hi, Boober. Did they tell you about the Poobahs' meeting last night?"

"Does it happen to have something to do with my laundry basket?" Boober asked.

Red grinned. "Does it ever! There was a pie-throwing coup."

Boober stared at her, or at least he appeared to. "A...pie-throwing coup?" he repeated as if unsure he had heard right.

"Yeah. Someone—we couldn't figure out who—challenged the High Mucky-Muck—Large Marvin—to combat with slingshot pies," Red explained.

Boober glanced at the tub. "Then why am I washing _your_ robes?"

Wembley said, "Things kind of spread out from there."

Boober shook his head. "The Poobahs are far too silly."

Mokey glanced at Boober, but he was flipping the last of the pancakes off the slate. He set the plate on the table and placed the warm honey beside it.

The Fraggles sat around the table. Each poured some honey onto a small plate, then took a small, thick pancake and dipped it into the honey. As they ate Gobo, Red, and Wembley describes the farce in greater detail. Mokey and Janken laughed with them; Boober just smiled vaguely without commenting.

When they finished Red and Mokey started doing the dishes. When Boober cooked, someone else always did the cleanup. Boober inspected the soaked robes. "These will only need a little scrubbing. I'll have them on the line in an hour. They'll be dry by evening."

"Good," Wembley said. He ruffled Janken's hair and said, "I hope you'll come see the fun tonight."

Janken looked away, his face clouded. He had been so cheerful all morning, Wembley thought, but _that_ upset him? He asked, "Is that what's been bothering you?"

Janken shook his head and said "Uh-uh."

"Then what is it?" Janken looked up at him with a sad, worried expression. In what he hoped was an encouraging tone of voice Wembley said, "You can tell me. I'm your papa."

Janken's expression tightened; he looked ready to cry. Gobo told him, "Come on, you can tell us. We're your family. Whatever it is, we'll help you."

Janken glanced around. Everyone was looking at him. He gathered his nerve, then blurted out to Wembley, "I don't want you to be my Papa!"

Startled and hurt, Wembley asked, "Jan...why?"

Janken felt even worse now. This was why he hadn't said anything before now; he knew that it would hurt Wembley's feelings and make everyone else mad at him. Desperately he explained, "If you're just Papa, then nobody else is! I want you to be Papa Wembley, and I want Papa Gobo and Papa Boober, like before! I want to be _everybody's_, not just yours!"

Now it made sense, the way Janken had been clinging to everyone except Wembley. He knelt to put himself on eye level with Janken. "Is that what you were afraid of? That I wanted you for myself?" he said softly. Janken nodded, looking ready to cry. Wembley explained, "When I said that you're mine, I meant that I helped make you. I was so happy to find that out. I didn't mean that I wanted to take you away from Gobo and Boober. If I did...I'd be taking them away from me, too. I couldn't stand to lose them any more than you could." He gave a little smile. "And even if I wanted to have you to myself, you think they'd let me? They love you too."

"So they can still be my papas too?" Janken asked, his voice quivering.

Wembley nodded. "Yeah. Nothing's really changed. We're still the same family. If you don't want to call them your uncles, then call them your papas." He looked around. "Right?"

Gobo said, "Of course."

"Yeah," Boober said.

"So, can I be Papa Wembley?" he asked Janken.

"Yeah."

"Good." Wembley hugged Janken, and this time Janken hugged back. Wembley added softly, "I'll tell you a secret. I don't love you more now that I know you're my son. If I did, that would mean I loved you less before I found out, and I didn't. Know what I mean?"

"Yeah," Janken answered. "Me too." He let go of Wembley and went to Gobo. He hugged him, saying "Papa Gobo."

"That's me," Gobo said, smiling, as he hugged Janken back.

Janken went to Boober next. "Papa Boober," he named him.

"I always will be," Boober answered softly.

Janken hugged Mokey on general principles, then paused and looked at Red. "Um, should I call you Mama Red instead of Aunt Red?" he asked uncertainly.

She smiled. If this was a story she'd call it corny, she thought, but it was different in real life. "I don't know. I've always been Aunt Red, and I'm used to that. What do you think?"

"If you like Aunt Red, then so do I," Janken said, and hugged her.

"Then we'll stick with that, kiddo," she told him.

Janken said, "When you and Gobo have your baby then you'll be Mama Red. 'Til then you can practice on me if you want."

That caught Red by surprise. She said, "Okay," her voice squeaking a little.

Janken went back to Wembley and said, "I can go to the Poobahs with you."

Wembley grinned widely. "Great!"

Mokey said, "Speaking of which...Boober?"

"Hmm?" He looked at her, then said, "Speaking of the Poobahs, I'll be washing robes all day, I'm sure. I'd better get back to work."

Boober turned back to his laundry tub. Mokey looked at him strangely for a moment, then mentally shrugged.

* * *

><p><em>Fraggle Rock<em> and all characters except Janken are copyright © The Jim Henson Company. All copyrighted properties are used without permission but with much respect and affection. Janken and the overall story are copyright © Kim McFarland (negaduck9 at aol dot com). Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.


	8. It's Getting Better

**The Mamas and The Papas  
>Part 8: It's Getting Better<br>**by Kim McFarland

* * *

><p>It was a dark and stormy night, but not stormy enough to flood the caves of Fraggle Rock, and thanks to the Ditzies it was not dark either, so the Fraggles paid no attention.<p>

The Poobahs, resplendent in their robes and masks, had assembled in the Firefly Cavern. Fritz called out, "Is the High Mucky-Muck here?"

The Mucky-Muck, who was standing at the podium before them, said, "Present!"

"Is the Naysayer here?"

That person, who was standing at the front, turned back and said, "Yea."

Satisfied with the reverse role call, Fritz declared, "Both present and accounted for. Next item. We have a new member."

The Mucky-Muck said, "We do? Who?"

The Naysayer, by the side of the podium, said, "Let the prospective member be brought forth!"

Fritz led a small, purple Fraggle to the front. The Naysayer said, "So, you want to join the High Exalted Holy Order of the Poobahs, do you? Are you worthy?"

"Yes," Janken answered, looking him in the eyes, although the Naysayer seemed to be looking at something behind him.

"Then show us how worthy you are," the Naysayer challenged.

Even if his family hadn't assured Janken that this was all a game and, no matter how things seemed, it was all in fun, he would not have been worried. The Naysayer acted mean, but his shrill voice and gaudy costume were too goofy to be scary, and his tone had softened a little when talking to Janken. Wembley had suggested a number of responses to the challenge, all of which amounted to a declaration that the Poobahs were silly. However, Janken had his own idea. He started to raise his hands. The Naysayer stopped him and pointed at the other Poobahs. "No, show us all."

Janken turned to face the assembly. Every masked face was looking at him. He raised his hands to the sides of his head, stuck his thumbs in his ears, and spread his fingers, mimicking the Solemn Mark of the Fraggle. Then he opened his mouth, stuck out his tongue, and bent his nose down, making the most absurd version he could of the face he had learned from Wembley.

The Poobahs laughed. The Naysayer paused, waiting for the sound to die down, then drew himself up and stared hard at Janken, or at a point just over his head. Calmly Janken looked back. Then the Naysayer said to the High Mucky-Muck, "That works for me."

The Mucky-Muck agreed, "Me too. Give 'im his robe!"

* * *

><p>Wembley and Gobo had come forward and dressed Janken in the robe and mask that Mokey made for him. Instead of the usual hat, Janken wore the pink tchotchke that the Trash Heap had given him. It somehow seemed appropriate to use her gift in his costume, and the rest of his family had agreed.<p>

After that, Janken had joined in the Poobahs' other activities, and had enjoyed himself. They were very serious about being ridiculous, which made a lot more sense when you saw it from the inside. Playing pretend always did.

Now Janken was in Mokey and Red's room. Both adults were taking off their robes and putting them away. Reluctantly Janken took his off as well. He thought, they had all acted so different, it was as if their robes came with new personalities.

Mokey said, "Let's go visit Boober."

Red replied, "He'll just shake his head like he always does. You know Boober."

Janken asked, "He's never one of the Poobahs?"

"Hardly ever," Red said. "We got him to join up, but he never got into it. He was still plain old stick-in-the-mud Boober."

Janken said, "That's too bad. Maybe if I asked him to go?"

Mokey smiled. "You could try. He might say no, but then he might say yes."

"If he says yes, and actually lets himself have some fun, I'll grow a second tail," Red said.

* * *

><p>The three went to Boober's room. Wembley and Gobo were there too. Gobo asked, "Have you seen Boober?"<p>

"Nope," Red answered.

"Aw," Janken said. He wanted to tell him all about the meeting.

Wembley said, "We just came in ourselves."

Gobo said, "He'll be glad to know that we didn't have any more pie fights."

The others nodded, grinning. Some of the robes worn to the meeting had been damp. Their owners hadn't gotten them to Boober early enough yesterday. He could wash quickly, but he couldn't command clothing to dry fast.

Boober, carrying some dark cloth over his shoulder like a sack, pushed aside the curtain that served as a door to his room, then stopped, startled. He hadn't expected to find anyone else here. He'd thought they'd still be winding down.

Janken bounced forward. "Hi, Papa Boober! The meeting was fun. I wish you'd been there. They made me a Poobah."

Boober put the cloth in the laundry basket. He brushed his hair, which was wet in front, to the side and said, "I knew you'd be silly enough for them."

Janken launched into an account of the night's festivities. Red looked curiously at the cloth that Boober had brought in. Sacks were usually made out of rough cloth, and this was new and fine. She lifted a corner, and stopped and stared at what was within. Then she tapped Gobo's shoulder.

Boober's back was turned to them, so he did not see what Red picked up out of the basket to show to Gobo. Janken did not either; he was too busy telling his story to Boober. But Wembley and Mokey did. Wembley glanced at what had been within the sack—which he could now see was a gaudily-embroidered robe turned inside-out—then at Boober, and back again. It was the Naysayer's mask, and it had false eyes on top.

When Janken paused to take a breath Gobo said, "Boober, is this yours?"

Boober turned. Both Red and Gobo were glaring at him. "Ahhhhh..." Boober said.

Red stuck her hand into the mask. Her fingertips came out the front. What they had thought was a dark stripe that ran just below the fake eyes was actually an opening. Wembley looked into the basket and found an off-white glove. "That was _you?_ Really? Wow, you got us good!" he exclaimed.

Red folded her arms. "Well, Boober?"

"Well, um..." He swallowed hard. "Yes."

"Boober, what is the_ matter_ with you?" Gobo demanded.

"Wait, what's wrong?" Wembley asked, startled.

Mokey said, "There is nothing the matter."

Red said, "Don't cover for him, Mokey. He was supposed to be doing the Midsummer Ritual with you, and he put on a disguise and threw pies instead! Boober, what were you _thinking?"_

"Why'd you do it?" Gobo asked, glowering.

Boober hesitated, drymouthed. Janken was also alarmed. Wembley took the child's hand and said, "I'm sure he has a good reason. Tell us, Boober," he said encouragingly.

Mokey stepped forward and said firmly, "Boober did not leave me. We were together the whole time."

"Oh, _really?_ How does that work?" Red snapped.

"Maybe it was Sidebottom," Wembley interjected.

"Oh, yeah? Then send him out so I can deal with the both of you at the same time!" Gobo said to Boober.

"Gobo!" Mokey exclaimed. _"I_ helped him plan this and make his costume! He wanted to try to have fun, but if everyone knew who he was it wouldn't work. So I made a disguise for him. Then I realized that my time was coming earlier than we expected. We talked about giving up on the Poobahs, but we decided not to."

"So you skipped the Ritual instead?" Red said in disbelief.

Mokey put her hands on her hips in exasperation. "Of course not! But how much time do you think it takes? You can only skip rope for so long!"

Gobo thought back to the Midsummer Ritual that had led to Janken's birth. That had been...time consuming, but then it had been three to one. The odds had been even this time. Okay, so they had taken care of matters and then joined the Poohahs in disguise. He guessed he couldn't blame anyone for that. It still didn't sit well with him, though.

Seeing his expression, Mokey said in a softer tone, "Really, Gobo, Boober didn't neglect me at all." She patted her stomach. "If he had, I would have been the _first_ to complain. And wasn't it worth it?"

"Yeah. He really had us fooled. I wouldn't have thought you had it in ya," Wembley told Boober.

"Yeah. Boy, you sure pick a great time to get goofy," Red grumbled.

Janken told her, "Don't be mean. He didn't do anything wrong."

Gobo said nothing, but, he thought, they had been trying for years to get Boober to loosen up. He used to have to split himself in two by creating an alter ego to cut loose the way any other Fraggle could do naturally. Now it looked like he was actually making an effort to come out of his shell. The last thing they ought to do is drive him back in.

Wembley promised, "We'll keep it a secret, Boober. Won't we?" He looked around at the others.

Sourly Boober said, "It doesn't matter. The joke's over."

He was angry over Red and Gobo's accusations, Mokey could tell. She put an arm around his shoulders and said, "It doesn't have to be. Come on, it was fun, wasn't it?"

Boober said, "If silly fun leads to grief like this, give me a basket of laundry any day."

Janken walked over to the laundry basket, picked it up, and set it in front of Boober. He took out the mask and held it up to him, an earnest expression on his face.

Gobo said, "Go on, Boober. Sorry we jumped on you."

Grudgingly Red added, "I guess that if Mokey says everything's okay I've got nothing to gripe about. I shoulda known you wouldn't do something _that_ dumb."

Boober said, "Well..." and took the mask from Janken.

Janken said, "Put it on."

After a moment's hesitation Boober did. Janken looked closely, then pointed. "You see out of the hole in the front, don't you."

"Yeah."

Wembley said, "I couldn't tell what color your skin was. It looked grey. How'd you do that?"

Boober took off the mask and set it in the basket. "Kaolin mixed with grease. It makes paint that washes right off afterward."

Gobo asked, "What about your tail?"

"I wrapped it around my waist."

Red whistled. "You really worked this all out, didn't you?"

"Well, I had help." He glanced up at Mokey, who smiled down at him. She was enjoying having her work admired. But, she told herself, she was being modest enough not to point out which parts she was responsible for, so it was all right.

Gobo said, "You're gonna come back tomorrow, aren't you? Otherwise people will wonder what happened. And, well, I don't think the meetings will be quite as much fun with just Large Marvin in charge."

"Oh... 'kay," Boober said with a faint smile.

Janken hugged Boober around the middle and said, "Yeah!"

* * *

><p>The family hung out in Boober's room for a while afterward. Fortunately, Boober made a practice of keeping an emergency stash of cookies and radish bars available for just such occasions, which did not discourage such occasions from arising.<p>

Eventually the cave light began to fade. Red was the first to get up. She said, "I'm going home now. Gotta get up early for diving practice. See ya later."

"See you," Boober said.

Gobo remarked to Wembley, "That sounds like a cue to me."

"Yeah. Let's go, Janken," Wembley said, getting up.

Janken did, but not before snatching a cookie for the road. "G'night."

Those four exited, leaving Mokey and Boober alone. Boober said, "Mokey?"

Fingering his scarf, she said, "I thought we could spend a little more time not neglect ing each other."

Boober's answer was not verbal.

* * *

><p>Janken walked home between Wembley and Gobo, holding their hands. Several times he jumped up, and they swung him high. He was still keyed up.<p>

By the time he calmed down due to the dimming of the Ditzies, Wembley and Gobo had changed into their pajamas. Janken put his on as well—he had a set of pajamas in each of his parents' rooms—and settled into the nook he used when he was there. Gobo, next to the fireplace, blew out the lantern.

Wembley was already asleep when, a few minutes later, the ladder leading up to his nook creaked. A purple-haired head appeared over the rim of the cavelet. Janken patted Wembley's back and whispered, "Papa Wembley?"

Wembley awakened and looked over his shoulder, then turned on his other side. "Something wrong?" he asked.

"No. Just, can I sleep with you tonight?"

"Sure," Wembley said. He scooted back to make room, and Janken climbed in and got under the covers. He snuggled up to Wembley and whispered, "I'm sorry I hurt your feelings."

"It's all right now," Wembley whispered back, and hugged him.

"I'm happy I'm your son."

"Aw..." For a moment Wembley didn't know what to say. Then something occurred to him. "Jan, I'd like to show you something I've never shown anyone else. Want to share a dream with me?"

"Yeah."

"Then let's go to sleep touching heads. That's easiest if we're back to back."

"Okay."

They turned away from each other, and Janken scooted up so his head was touching Wembley's. Sharing dreams was a rare, magical thing that he had only done a few times in his life. Wembley said softly, "Dream a dream and see,"

Janken completed the ritual words, "what a dream can be."

* * *

><p>Janken found himself with Wembley in a brightly-lit place. There were no cave walls anywhere, just sky all around, and no ground except for the flat, translucent rock he was standing on. Janken looked over the edge. The rock was balanced on the top of a tall pillar that looked like it was made of rainbow-colored quartz crystals. He could not see what was below; the pillar disappeared into fog before it reached the ground.<p>

Janken shrank back from the edge. Wembley said, "Don't be afraid. This is my dream. I won't let anything bad happen to us."

Janken nodded. He understood, but the sight of so much distance in every direction was still scary.

Wembley said, "Watch me."

Janken watched from the center of the rock as Wembley walked to the edge, crouched, and leapt off. He arced up, as if diving—then hung in the air. Floating, he turned to face Janken. "You can do it too."

Janken hesitated. Even though he knew it was only a dream, the distance seemed so _real._ He looked up at Wembley again. He trusted him; he knew he wouldn't bring him into a dream to scare him. He inched close to the edge, then said, "Catch me?"

"Sure." Wembley held out his arms.

Janken worked up his nerve, looking at Wembley rather than the distance, then gritted his teeth and jumped as hard as he could. Wembley caught him and was knocked backward. Janken's legs locked around Wembley's waist and his arms encircled his neck tightly.

Then he looked around, surprised. They were not falling. Janken didn't feel heavy at all. It was like the air was supporting him. He asked Wembley, "Can I fly too?"

"Yes."

Janken made himself let go of Wembley, first his legs, then his arms. Before he let go completely he took one of Wembley's hands. Then they were floating side by side. And, Janken realized, it wasn't scary any more. He no longer felt like he could fall. He said in amazement, "It's like swimming in air!"

"Yeah, isn't it?" Wembley agreed. "C'mon!"

Holding Janken's hand, Wembley began a downward spiral around the pillar. It looked like a giant crystal from the Crystal Cavern. Then he and Janken entered the fog. It was thin and warm. When they came through the bottom they saw jungly land below. Trees and other plants grew wild here. They skimmed over the tops of the trees. Janken reached down so his fingertips could brush the leaves.

Soon they reached a clearing. The land beneath was green, and there was a stone building in the center that was surrounded by low stone walls and a garden. Janken said, "I know where we are! That's the Gorgs' castle! And there's the tip of Fraggle Rock!"

"That's right."

Janken let go of Wembley's hand and flew ahead toward the well. He stopped and hovered over it, then turned toward Wembley. "Can we fly down there?"

"Sure. Lead the way."

Janken darted down the well, with Wembley following. At first the little Fraggle just enjoyed soaring through the tunnels, but soon he began flying into walls, pivoting in midair just before he crashed so he could land on his feet and kick off in another direction. Wembley laughed at the sight of Janken ricocheting off the walls like a rubber ball. That had never occurred to him! He began bouncing after him. Soon they were playing a game of tag in the Great Hall, using the stalactites, stalagmites, arches, and other rock formations as an obstacle course.

When the game wound down they landed on the arch in the Great Hall. Janken said, "This is a great dream!"

"It didn't start out as a dream," Wembley told him.

"Huh?"

Wembley looked upward and said, "Once I saw a magic spiderfly stuck on a plant. I freed it, and it gave me a gift. I could fly, but only a few times. At first I wanted to show everyone what I could do, but Gobo, Red, Mokey, and Boober wouldn't let me. They didn't believe I could fly and thought I was only going to hurt myself. I couldn't show off for them, so I flew by myself, just for the fun of it. It was a lot better that way. And even though I can't fly again in real life, I can do it in my dreams." He looked at Janken. "It's okay if you don't believe me. Nobody else does. But even if I imagined it all, it's still fun, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Can we dream this again?"

"Sure, sometime. And now that you know what it's like, you can dream it for yourself."

"Wow." Janken leaned against Wembley's side. Wembley put an arm around his shoulders. "You said you never showed anyone else this dream. Why didn't you?"

"Because it would have felt like showing off," Wembley answered. "Like I was still trying to prove I could fly. I don't need to do that. But you didn't know about it before, so it was just fun." He smiled. "Maybe I'm showing off now by telling you."

"Nah," Janken answered.

"Okay then," Wembley said, and chuckled.

After a little while they flew again, this time drifting gently from their perch, and floated back into Wembley and Gobo's room. They saw themselves, still sleeping back to back, and Gobo in his own nook. They settled back into their bodies and felt their normal weight return.

Janken's eyes opened. It was dark and quiet; the only sounds he could hear were Gobo and Wembley's breathing and the chirp of a nearby thimble beetle. He turned toward Wembley and patted his arm gently. "Papa Wembley?"

Wembley awoke and turned to face Janken. "Yeah?" he said fuzzily.

"I believe you flew for real."

Wembley smiled at him. "Thanks."

Janken snuggled up to Wembley. "I love you, Papa," he whispered.

Wembley hugged Janken. "I love you too, Jan."

Comfortable and happy, Janken and Wembley went to sleep in each other's arms.

* * *

><p><em>Fraggle Rock<em> and all characters except Janken are copyright © The Jim Henson Company. All copyrighted properties are used without permission but with much respect and affection. Janken and the overall story are copyright © Kim McFarland (negaduck9 at aol dot com). Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.


	9. The Outtake Reel

**The Mamas and The Papas  
>Extras: Outtake Reel<strong>  
>by Kim McFarland<p>

* * *

><p>[Wembley and Janken are playing a game in which Janken must copy whatever Wembley does. Wembley makes one of his characteristic faces at Janken by turning his nose so far down his head looks like a fist with eyes. Janken makes the same face right back at Wembley.]<p>

Wembley: [astonished] How did you do that?

Janken: [voice mufffled] How did you do that?

[Wembley finishes the game by beeping Janken's still-downturned nose.]

Wembley: You won. You can stop doing that now.

Janken: [voice still muffled] No, I can't. I'm stuck!

Wembley: Oops, here.

[Wembley swats Janken lightly on the back of his head. There is an audible boing, and Janken's nose springs back to its normal position.]

Janken: [rubbing his nose] Thanks. I was starting to get a cramp.

* * *

><p>Take 1:<p>

[The Naysayer and the High Mucky-Muck stand back-to back. Then each walks ten paces forward, turns, and raises his slingshot. The High Mucky-Muck shoots first. His missile splats against the cave wall to one side of the Naysayer. Then the Naysayer shoots. His shot flops to the ground halfway between them.]

Take 2:

[The Naysayer and the High Mucky-Muck stand back-to back. Then each walks ten paces forward, turns, and raises his slingshot. The High Mucky-Muck shoots first. His missile splats against the cave wall to one side of the Naysayer. Then the Naysayer shoots. He hits one of the Poobahs behind the Mucky-Muck.]

Take 5:

[The Naysayer and the High Mucky-Muck stand back-to back. Then each walks ten paces forward, turns, and raises his slingshot. The High Mucky-Muck shoots first. His missile splats against the cave wall to one side of the Naysayer. Then the Naysayer raises his slingshot. The missile breaks, and crumbs and grape jam run down the Naysayer's arm inside his sleeve.]

Take 37:

[The Naysayer and the High Mucky-Muck stand back-to back. Then each walks ten paces forward, turns, and raises his slingshot. The High Mucky-Muck shoots first. His missile splats against the cave wall to one side of the Naysayer. Then the Naysayer pulls back on his slingshot. Out of camera range, someone else shoots a pie-ball at the Mucky-Muck and hits him on the nose.]

* * *

><p>[Janken, Boober, Mokey, and Red are in Boober's kitchen. Boober is cooking pancakes.]<p>

Janken: [to Mokey] Are you growing a baby now?

Mokey: Yes, I am.

Janken: Are you sure this time?

Mokey: Yes.

Janken: How do you know?

Mokey: [amused] I felt a 'ping.'

[Boober and Red look at Mokey, startled.]

Janken: A 'ping'?

Mokey: Yes. A 'ping.' Ping!

Boober: [over his shoulder] I felt a 'squd' once.

Red: _Ew_.

* * *

><p><em>Fraggle Rock<em> and all characters except Janken are copyright © The Jim Henson Company. All copyrighted properties are used without permission but with much respect and affection. Janken and the overall story are copyright © Kim McFarland (negaduck9 at aol dot com). Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.


End file.
